Chapter 4 - The Shadow War at Lakeshore Community
Peace, however, is a rare and fragile commodity in the criminal underworld of Chicago.
While Dominic stood by the hospital bed cradling his newborn son, a silent, violent storm was brewing just floors below them.
Carter Wynn stood in the brightly lit, sterile lobby of Lakeshore Community Hospital, surrounded by four black-suited enforcers from Dominic’s inner circle. His expensive leather shoes clicked sharply against the linoleum as he paced back and forth in front of the elevators, his phone clutched tightly to his ear.
“I don't care about the Milwaukee shipment, Victor!” Carter snapped into the phone, his face red with frustration. “The boss dropped off the grid because of some personal emergency at a maternity ward! Yes, I know it’s insane! Dominic Vale doesn't do personal emergencies!”
Before Victor on the other end of the line could respond, the front glass doors of the hospital slid open.
A chilling blast of cold night air swept into the lobby, carrying with it the unmistakable sound of heavy boots.
Carter lowered his phone slowly. His eyes locked onto the entrance.
Walking through the sliding doors were six men dressed in tactical black gear, their faces half-concealed, heavy submachine guns tucked casually against their chests. They weren't local street thugs; they were elite enforcers from the Outfit—Dominic’s primary, ruthless rival syndicate led by Victor Moretti.
Moretti’s men had been tracking Dominic’s movements all evening. When they saw his black sedan abandoned in the ambulance bay with the engine running, they had pieced together the puzzle with terrifying speed.
*Dominic Vale was vulnerable.*
Carter’s hand instinctively dropped toward the shoulder holster hidden beneath his tailored suit jacket.
“Well, well, well,” a cold, gravelly voice echoed across the lobby.
A tall, sharp-featured man with slicked-back blonde hair and a permanent scar running down his cheek stepped forward from the group. It was Dante Moretti, Victor’s ruthless younger brother and chief enforcer.
“Carter Wynn,” Dante smirked, resting his hand casually on the grip of his suppressed pistol. “Word on the street is that the great, untouchable Dominic Vale abandoned a multi-million-dollar cartel meeting tonight to play midwife at a public hospital. Tell me... is it true? Is the king holding a baby?”
Carter stepped in front of the elevators, planting his feet firmly on the floor, his face hardening into a stone-cold mask. “You’re trespassing, Dante. Turn around and walk out those doors right now, or you won't live to see the sun come up over Lake Michigan.”
Dante chuckled—a dry, ugly sound that lacked any real humor. “Oh, relax, Carter. We didn't come to start a war in a maternity ward. We just heard that our dear friend Dominic was having a family reunion. We figured we’d come up, pay our respects, and deliver a little congratulatory gift on behalf of the Moretti family.”
Dante slowly drew his pistol from its holster, the metal catching the harsh fluorescent light of the lobby.
“A baby makes a man very, very weak, Carter,” Dante sneered, taking a step forward. “And we’re here to collect a permanent insurance policy.”
Carter’s hand flashed under his jacket, drawing his own weapon with lightning speed. Behind him, the four black-suited enforcers instantly raised their firearms, forming an impenetrable wall in front of the elevators.
“Step another inch closer, Dante, and I’ll turn your brains into wallpaper,” Carter snarled.
Dante smirked, raising his own gun. “Let’s see how fast you shoot when the whole floor goes up in smoke.”
Before the first shot could ring out, the elevator bell above them chimed with a crisp, cheerful ding.
The stainless-steel doors slid open slowly.
The ambient noise of the lobby instantly died. A heavy, suffocating pressure dropped over the room, as if the atmospheric pressure had plummeted fifty percent in a single second.
Standing inside the elevator car was Dominic Vale.
He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top collar, his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, exposing thick cords of muscle, and his face possessed an expression of such cold, absolute, murderous wrath that several of Moretti’s hardened enforcers involuntarily took a step backward.
Dominic stepped out of the elevator.
He didn't have a submachine gun. He didn't have a tactical vest. But in his right hand, he held a heavy, customized SIG Sauer pistol, resting casually against his thigh, the barrel pointed directly at the floor.
“Dante,” Dominic whispered.
The single word echoed through the cavernous lobby with the acoustic force of a sledgehammer hitting an anvil.
Dante Moretti froze, his smile vanishing instantly as he turned to face the man he had just threatened.
“Dominic...” Dante swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady as he raised his pistol toward the elevator. “You’re out of your depth, Vale. You left your empire unguarded for a woman and a brat. Moretti’s men are going to take—!”
Dominic didn't let him finish the sentence.
In a blur of motion too fast for the human eye to track, Dominic raised his pistol and fired.
*CRACK.*
The deafening roar of gunfire shattered the quiet hospital lobby, echoing off the tile floors and glass windows.
Dante Moretti let out a sharp gasp of sheer shock as his own pistol was violently blown out of his hand, spinning through the air before clattering across the linoleum tiles, the metal slide completely shattered by the precise bullet.
Before Dante could even register the pain in his scorched, bleeding palm, Dominic closed the distance between them across the lobby in three ferocious strides.
He grabbed Dante by the silk lapels of his jacket, hoisted him entirely off the floor with terrifying, superhuman strength, and slammed his spine hard against a marble pillar with a sickening crunch that echoed through the entire floor.
Dante choked, his feet kicking uselessly in the air as his hands clawed frantically at Dominic’s wrists.
“You stepped foot into a hospital where my newborn son is sleeping,” Dominic whispered, his voice dangerously low, vibrating with a cold, terrifying fury that promised unspeakable horrors. “You brought weapons where women and children are trying to heal. And you threatened my family.”
“I... I was just—!” Dante choked out, his face turning a deep, dangerous shade of purple.
“Listen to me very carefully, you pathetic piece of trash,” Dominic hissed, bringing his face inches from Dante’s terrified eyes. “You are going to take your little men, walk out those front doors, and go back to Victor Moretti. You are going to tell him that the South Side routes belong to me, the docks belong to me, and Chicago belongs to me. And if any member of your family ever looks in the direction of my son again... I won't just destroy your syndicate. I will personally dig up your family’s graves and scatter your ashes across Lake Michigan.”
“Y-Yes... I understand! Please... let me go!” Dante gasped, tears springing from his eyes.
Dominic stared at him with absolute contempt for one more second before shoving him away with enough force to send Dante crashing hard into the arms of his own armed enforcers.
“Get out of my sight,” Dominic commanded.
Without a word of protest, Dante’s men grabbed their whimpering leader, practically dragging him backward toward the sliding glass doors, tumbling out into the pouring rain and fleeing into the night like terrified rats.
Carter Wynn lowered his weapon, letting out a long, shaky breath as he looked at his boss. “Remind me never to make you angry, Dom.”
Dominic holstered his pistol, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt back down over his forearms, his face returning to that eerie, calm mask of complete control.
“Secure the entire maternity floor, Carter,” Dominic instructed quietly. “Nobody gets in or out without my personal clearance.”
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“Consider it done, Boss.”
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